


Without a Word

by bioplast_hero



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alien Biology, Comeplay, Dirtiest of tags for the softest of fics, Feral Behavior, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mating Bites, Minor Allura/Lotor (Voltron) - FREEFORM, Morning Sex, Mutual Pining, Non-Compliant Post-Canon, Only One Bed, Painplay, Rimming, Ritual Branding, Vers / Bottom Shiro (Voltron), Xenophilia, non-verbal consent, not sex pollen - FREEFORM, primal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:40:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22644271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bioplast_hero/pseuds/bioplast_hero
Summary: He steps toward Keith, closer than strictly necessary. It’s less than speaking distance, but they aren’t speaking, are they? The rules are different, suddenly.It would take nothing for Shiro to reach out and touch him, lifting his chin with gentle fingers, but would that say what he needs to say?Please, look at me. Tell me.His fingers twitch and stay by his side.Shiro still hasn’t told Keith how he feels, but maybe he doesn’t have to find the words.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 65
Kudos: 278
Collections: Sheithlentines 2020





	Without a Word

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kettish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kettish/gifts).



> Sheithlentines 2020 gift for [@AlexAbrhmDraws](https://twitter.com/AlexAbrhmDraws)!
> 
> Maybe I got a little carried away {blinks at word count} but I hope you like what I did with your delicious prompts.
> 
> This has the dirtiest of tags for the softest of fics, honestly. There’s story here, and kink, and smut with feelings. The main theme is primal and all the places that leads.
> 
> A few things this is not, just in case:  
> \- Not soulmark au. The brand holds meaning for the individual, not partners.  
> \- Not a/b/o, though with all this feral behavior you could read into it; amab language throughout.  
> \- Not sex pollen. Everybody's inhibitions are normal and consent is intact. It's more circumstantial that sheith finally get out of their own way. ;)
> 
> Beta love: [Rory](https://twitter.com/ragdollrory) and Jen! You are amazing!

“We are honored to be included in your sacred rites,” Allura says while extending a gesture of greeting to the Protector of Naraq.

Shiro remembers the gesture from their mission briefing. This particular shape also means life-spring, and therefore invites renewal upon the recipient. Luckily the cavern is well-lit so he can follow her lead. He does his best to form the complicated shape with his flesh hand, drawing it out and away from himself at what he hopes is the right angle so as to honor their host.

By his side, Keith makes a different shape, the motion rising and lingering in the air. Shiro tries to recall which shape that is— strength? vitality?— but it escapes him. Keith moves with confidence, with none of Shiro’s hesitancy, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. He probably does. Keith has always been a man of action.

Shiro tries to tamp down the feeling it gives him, the thrill of seeing Keith soar. He’s been lost on Keith a long time now, there’s no helping it. Shiro accepted his purgatory and kept his silence when the alternative was too terrifying. He’s the luckiest man alive, just to have his friend by his side after all they’ve been through. But for all he needs to keep it in check, Shiro knows he’ll never tire of the way Keith makes him feel.

Lotor stands at Allura’s far side, sweeping two closed fists from shoulder to hip, fluid and flawless. Shiro remembers this one, the sign for rightful sovereignty. A diplomatic choice for the leader of the reformed Galra empire visiting an alien world.

The Naraqians appear pleased, if the waving of their antennae is any indication. Hunk said it would be, based on his frequent dealings with their newest Coalition ally, but the other paladins are not here to consult. Outsiders come and go from Naraq, but the last time any were welcomed to the mysterious rites, Allura was yet a child on Altea in a peaceful universe.

Protector begins to sign in reply. She stands before them in a holographic frame where her movements are tracked in three dimensions by tiny points of light. The technology was something Hunk dreamed up, translating their language into a passable spoken word.

“You are honored guests, great ones,” generated words warble in the air, reedy and thin. Shiro is appreciative, to be sure; he’d be up the creek without an oar, without Hunk’s invention. But it immediately feels discordant— all the evident depth of meaning and feeling in her complex motions, cooked down and served in toneless words that are doing their best to approximate the meaning. 

Like serving flavored food goo and calling it apple pie.

Hunk would be the first to say that the device was a work in progress, but there must be an awful lot lost in translation.

Shiro tries to focus on the message, watching Protector closely for anything he can glean from unfamiliar body language.

“Here, there are no names,” the device intones on her behalf. “We are what we do. And it is the same with you. You are known to us by the path you walk, and the grooves you carve in your wake.”

Protector indicates each one of them in turn, as there are no signs for their off-world names. She begins with Lotor at the left, signing “Protector of New Daibazaal, Reformer of the Empire”; Allura, “Protector of New Altea, Paladin and Guiding Light of the Coalition”; Keith, “Paladin and Leader of Voltron”; and Shiro, “Paladin and Earth’s Champion against tyranny.”

Shiro feels Keith flinch at the word _champion,_ a sympathetic impulse, although Shiro understands it as a reference to Atlas’ role in ending the war. That nerve isn’t so raw for Shiro now, though Keith is ever-ready to defend him no matter the context. He feels Keith uncoil by his side when he remains calm.

“Your deeds inspire hope in an unsettled universe. We speak of your greatness to honor you. We welcome the stability and healing you bring.”

“You honor us,” Shiro says. The gesture he studied for this brings to mind receiving a gift between two hands. “May we be worthy of it,” he continues, crossing his arm over his chest, palm pressed flat. He hopes it looks right with his disembodied arm. 

Protector hums and moves aside as another Naraqian steps into the translator’s frame. This one wears a headpiece they were told to look out for, indicating her position in the dominant religion. She is known as the Shepherd. 

They feel the weight of her authority in the stillness falling over the room.

“The rites tonight renew our commitments,” she explains, her signs deliberate and slow. “To justice. To fair action. And to truth above all,” she pauses, looking slowly at each of them. “You are not of our world. There is much in your way. For you, we present the _Insight.”_

Shepherd extends four arm-like appendages, gripping a smooth black cylinder in each six-toed claw. When the translator stays silent they understand that the movement is not a word, but an action. An offer.

Is this it? The ritual? 

Shiro glances over at Allura, who is trying not to show her confusion.

The crux of the ceremony they came for is the Illumination _,_ a ritual brand that bestows a unique and permanent mark on some part of the initiant’s skin. Every mark is different, they were told, and arrives with a vision illuminating its meaning.

That last bit might actually be a hallucination brought on by the excruciating pain of receiving the brand. Allura’s own father and mother were marked long ago, and she warned that receiving the mark is severe and must be borne stoically.

Shiro was undeterred— so long as we’re not talking about sawing-one’s-arm-off-while-awake levels of pain. Honestly, he was intrigued by the whole thing from the start. Keith agreed as soon as Shiro did, which was also unsurprising; so much with them is like that, though they never talk about it. The Garrison didn’t want to hear any more of the ‘weird details,’ but they liked the PR of their own being among the first outsiders honored to partake in ten millennia.

But this can’t be the main event, Shiro realizes. The briefing spoke of a great gathering at nightfall, of instruments used, ceremonial robes, and symbolic movements they would perform when the time comes. 

This was just the welcome mat. It must be something else.

“Please, we do not understand,” Allura replies, with a questioning gesture that seems to come across despite having too few fingers for that particular sign.

The antennae of the assembled leaders droop slightly, but Shepherd is tolerant of their confusion.

“Mouths lie,” the translator intones, flat and firm as she signs the words with her lower arms. “In deed, in action, we are truly ourselves. You will drink to take the words away, until there is nothing left but what is. This is the Insight _.”_

Shiro’s stomach twists in knots. No one said anything about alien psychoactives— what if it isn’t safe? What are the long-term effects?

Before he can catch himself, Shiro takes a small step, angling himself in front of Keith. It’s instinct, automatic like breathing. Keith utters a startled sound at his back. He won’t deny that he feels slightly more in control of the shifting situation, if somewhat out of control of himself.

The misstep is clear. The delegation’s antennae have fallen further, as the first indication. Worse is the sign Shiro catches from the corner of his eye, seemingly angled in his particular direction. It’s one they were cautioned to look out for: _doubt._

Splendid. Shiro’s face burns with the shame of offending their hosts, but he stands firm even as he feels Keith’s hand arrive warm at his back.

“Counsel,” Lotor says, “do not despair.” His words are paired with a series of gestures too quick and smooth for Shiro to follow. “We only require an assurance of the substance’s safety, and transience. We are outsiders, after all. We will need our voices again.”

He continues to sign, with some input from Allura, until their meaning seems to have been understood. Keith nods in agreement. Shepherd responds.

“The Insight is formulated to your unique biochemistries. You will be perfectly yourselves and of sound mind, only you will not know speech. Your senses will become heightened, a natural response.” The Shepherd glances at her fellows, and Shiro wishes he could tell from the way her body sways what else she is saying to them that isn’t being voiced in words. Sending reassurance, requesting patience? It is opaque to him.

“You will be our guests, your every need anticipated while you partake in the rites. You are safe here. When the sun rises, you will recover your voices.”

Shiro wonders absently how the denizens of Naraq even know when the sun is risen, given their lives are lived in an elaborate network of caves below the ancient jungles of their largest continent. Their tunnels suit them, with their specialized appendages for cutting stone and shaping rock.

Do they _feel_ dawn? Smell it?

The hand at Shiro’s back slides up his spine to his shoulder, gripping until Shiro turns to meet his eyes. Keith’s expression is so full it’s unreadable, his eyes questioning. But he nods as he squeezes his shoulder, and Shiro knows what that means. _It’s okay. I’m alright._

“Very well,” Allura says evenly, signing her agreement. Never mind how tense her shoulders look. This is an honor not to be refused, and one that will not come again. It’s why they came all this way. It’s only for one night.

They can do this.

Shiro steps back into place. He wishes he could recall a gesture of apology— that’s the one he should have made sure to remember, above all others, though there’s nothing to be done about it now. Instead, Keith cups his hand in the air between them, pulsing two fingers twice. Shiro doesn’t remember that one at all. How is Keith such a natural at this?

“We’re ready,” Keith says quietly and for Shiro’s benefit, it seems. Something about the word _we_ pinches his heart pleasantly.

Shepherd is visibly pleased. She extends her arms once more, holding what they can only assume to be the ceremonial drink. They each take a cylinder, the surface softer than expected and cool in Shiro’s palm.

Something shifts, imperceptible at first but coming into focus. The form is reshaping in his hand, at once growing and thinning into more of a cone, the narrow end at the top spiraling open like an aperture. Where the outside appears black, the inside is eggshell white and gleaming, the liquid still and clear.

“Drink,” Shepherd tells them.

Keith moves first, his own vessel almost egg-shaped in the curl of his fingers. Without breaking eye contact with Shepherd, Keith knocks his back.

Shiro stares, on alert for the first sign of danger. It doesn’t come. He deeply wishes Keith had not gone first. That’s probably exactly why he did, preferring it to the alternative.

Lotor’s vessel unfurled into a low bowl, which he raises to his lips in both hands, careful not to spill a drop. Allura follows, hers like a flute gripped by a sharp stem. Her features almost slip at the taste, but that is all.

Shiro brings the cone to his lips and drinks.

~ * ~

Trailing after their escort, Shiro and the others have to watch their feet. Intricate designs carve the full length of the passages, ankle-deep ruts that sway and weave underfoot and all around. Grooves in the rock overhead hold tree roots that give off a soft bioluminescence where they carve in and out of the tunnel like some master embroiderer’s work.

The play of light and shadow here is breathtaking, and a bit treacherous for the humanoid visitors. The Naraqians scuttle quickly on their four lower legs, their several arms free for conversation or extra balance when required. Shiro is reminded of kung fu mantises, smiling to himself.

First they are to be shown their accommodations. Then they will gather for the ritual. After that, a night to hopefully sleep off whatever it is they ingested. Shiro would have much preferred take a vow of silence for the night, but no one was asking his opinion.

“How long before it takes, do you think?” Keith asks in a low voice, almost on cue. If they’re going to drug their voices away, they may as well use them until they can’t.

“You know everything I know,” Shiro murmurs. “More, actually— how’d you remember all those different signs?”

Keith shrugs. “Dunno. Just liked ‘em, I guess,” he demurs. Fingers tug through the grown-out hair at the nape of his neck, one of his nervous gestures.

“You were amazing,” Shiro says, just a bit breathless. “Really, Keith.”

A blush dusts Keith’s cheeks. People have called Keith cold, unfriendly, hard to read, but it always seemed absurd to Shiro. He’s hardly known anyone more expressive, in all the subtle ways he shows his feelings.

And if Shiro secretly delights in rewarding Keith with well-earned praise, not another soul need know about it.

“Shiro,” he sighs his name. It’s fond, appreciative and soft, like a secret between them. Keith inhales to speak again but leaves it there, seeming to think better of whatever he was going to say.

It feels like companionable silence, until it doesn’t.

“Keith?”

Keith looks up, no worry on his face, deep purple irises catching the light in an odd way. Then Keith stiffens. His eyes flare cat-like as his mouth opens, soundless, then snaps shut. 

“Keith- whoa, are you alright? Your eyes—”

Keith stops, and Shiro can’t help the way his arms come up to steady him, just in case he needs it. Keith’s nails bite into Shiro’s flesh arm in a claw-like grip, while the sclera of his eyes have a definite yellow hue, slitted pupils showing his stress.

Anger flares in Shiro’s chest for putting Keith at risk. It’s unacceptable, and he feels the fool for letting it happen. But that anger is useless now; he stays focused on Keith, hands gripping his upper arms firmly, thumbs stroking in an attempt to soothe his obvious distress.

As the initial shock passes, Keith rallies and his pupils relax. He no longer looks sick or afraid, nothing like Shiro feared. Instead his eyes are a bit wide, like he’s taking it all in. When he meets Shiro’s gaze, his eyes crinkle at the corners with something like a held-back smile.

Shiro releases the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “You good?”

Keith looks like he doesn’t follow his words, but he reaches up to squeeze Shiro’s shoulder firmly. It’s their familiar touch. _I’m okay. I’m here._

“Has Keith’s dose taken affect, then?” Allura asks quietly, catching up to them. Shiro nods.

She smiles fondly in Keith’s direction. “Yes, I see. Lotor came up a few doboshes ago. He needed a moment to gather himself, but,” she links her arm with Lotor’s elbow as he reaches her side, “it seems to have settled down now.”

Lotor’s expression is lucid and serene. His eyes are also looking more cat-like than usual. It’s odd, how much more expressive they are like that, like even Shiro could make sense of what Lotor is thinking.

“Do you feel anything yet?” Shiro asks her.

“No,” Allura shakes her head before cracking a sly smile at Lotor, who’s a bit boneless where he leans into her arm. “But it’s starting to look like fun, if I’m honest. I mean, he seems quite comfortable.”

Shiro looks back at Keith— who is staring at Shiro as though he hasn’t looked away. His pupils are blown so wide Shiro could fall into them. It does something to Shiro, something he doesn’t have words for as the feeling pools low in his belly.

He swallows, trying to focus. Their Naraqian escort has doubled-back to collect them. Shiro would like to ask how much further, if only he knew the signs he’d need to do so.

“Okay,” Shiro says to Allura, “we should keep going,” and he touches Keith’s shoulder to usher him on. The way Keith leans into the touch makes his heart leap as they start down the tunnel again.

The passageway widens slowly until they reach a cavern unlike any he’s seen, anywhere in the universe. Massive doesn’t begin to cover it.

The floor before them falls away in a steep slope, bottoming out ten meters below in a sort of Byzantine garden. Its features curve and coil in a pattern like the head of a sunflower, taken all at once. Each divot is a great, angular bowl where citizens can gather among greenery, sit amongst steaming stones, or bask in shining pools. Everywhere the pathways are lit with dots of warm light. It’s a public plaza, a bathhouse, and the strangest bazaar all at once.

Luminous roots grow through the ceiling and cast the cavern in a purple-blue glow, mingling with the warmer primary lights in the plaza below. The roots hug the rock face, or grow down stalactites that are themselves the size of pine trees growing down instead of upright. From form to form, the roots bend and arc like the buttresses of ancient cathedrals back on Earth. 

Their escort points to their left with an extended foreleg, indicating the wide lane that follows the rim. Shiro can see there are windows set into the rock all along the way, some dark and some warmly lit— residences, he decides. They head in that direction.

The stone surface is smooth underfoot here, and Shiro is grateful for the relief. He’s able to turn his attention to their surroundings while they amble along. Everything fascinates: the buzz of Naraqians all around them, the bright colors of their bodies as diverse as insects on Earth; the stalactites hanging blade-like over them, the same grey-green rock as the road they walk; the endless, twisting patterns of light and shadow, bestowed by some great, unseen forrest far above ground.

Keith wanders a step or two ahead, putting him in Shiro’s line of sight. There’s nothing unusual about the way he moves now, all sensual lines and coiled, catlike grace. That’s just Keith. But as Shiro’s eyes caress his form, he lingers over the curve of his ass far longer than he’ll usually allow himself.

Keith turns, too quickly for Shiro to rearrange his features. Not only has Keith caught him staring— worse, he caught him smiling just a bit dreamily to himself.

Keith falters, seeming to forget whatever he was going to try to do. Once he locks eyes with Shiro they both stutter to a grinding halt.

Shiro opens his mouth, and suddenly it’s just a parting of lips, just a rush of air from his lungs, nothing more to it as he stares openly at the man before him. There are no words.

_Keith,_ he thinks. It’s all he can think, and yet he can’t voice it. He exhales.

He doesn’t know what he expected, but he didn’t expect this.

Keith steps forward, calm concern written on his face. He pulls Shiro into a hug, slowly, like Shiro might be just a bit feral at the moment. The hug is as gentle as it is slow, and belatedly Shiro recognizes the intent, giving him every chance to pull away— to say no with his body, if he needs to.

Shiro clings to Keith, grateful as ever for how well Keith reads him. Especially now, especially here. Shiro’s grip is almost too eager, burying his nose in Keith’s hair and breathing deep. He never has been able to describe the contentment that hits him at Keith’s familiar scent, a Marmoran-issue soap that’s vaguely clove above a note that is just _him._ And here, he doesn’t have to describe or explain, just feel. The scent brings him into his body, present and at home.

A crunch of rock sounds behind them, then Allura’s hand ghosts over Shiro’s back. Turning from Keith, he sees her awed expression and knows it mirrors his own. They may not have known what they were getting themselves into on Naraq, but they’re in it now. They may as well take what’s coming with an open mind.

So they walk, Keith wrapping an arm around Shiro’s lower back. He doesn’t need the support, but it feels so good to be held. He lets himself have what Keith is offering.

Despite assurances, Shiro knows there’s a chance he’s not in his right mind right now, and yet… he feels like himself. His thoughts are clear enough, just oddly wordless. Full of color and meaning, in an unspoken language that he _knows,_ somehow, even if it’s a bit atrophied.

Keith makes a gentle sound of surprise when a flying creature flutters past them at close quarters. It’s moth-like but glowing, the size of his palm, with a long, fibrous tail.

Keith points at the odd creature with childlike wonder, just to be sure Shiro sees it, too. And he does, and he sees Keith, hears the hum of delight he makes that is so unguarded.

Without words, feelings come to the surface. Shiro recognizes most of them, old companions he has names for, woven with memories of joy and hope, grief and anger, crippling self-doubt. Right now he can’t remember their names, but the sensations are just as vivid as any other day. Not more, not really; it’s only that he’s paying attention. He feels so full with it.

There’s an absence, too, and it sneaks up on him as he feels Keith’s fingers trailing small patterns through his uniform where they rest at his hip. That touch, and how he yearns for it to mean something more than it does. He _wants._ And Shiro knows that there’s something he’s usually saying to himself when Keith is gentle with him, something lost on him now.

It’s just, there’s no judgment about those feelings. Is that what is missing? The voice that tells him _how_ he’s not enough, _why_ he’s too much— it’s silent. The feelings remain, unfurling in his heart now like there’s no need to lurk in the shadows.

It aches, how he wants to be _Keith’s,_ wants to deserve it. How it seems impossible between them, and inevitable at the same time. He’ll never not move in Keith’s orbit, however far Shiro must remain from what he wants most.

They come to a stop as their escort turns. She reaches into a sack and hands each of them a tawny-colored capsule that calls to mind a cocoon. Not sure if it is to be a snack or pet or something stranger still, Shiro takes his and holds it gingerly.

Allura and Lotor are shown up to one room. And before he understands what is happening, Keith and Shiro are shown to another. Shiro feels a blush heat his face, awash with anxiety as Keith tenses at his side.

Their escort moves to leave and Shiro steps away from Keith’s embrace which has grown stiff, reaching to halt the Naraqian before she leaves them to fend for themselves. He’s not sure what to do, just that he has to do something.

She regards him patiently, but now what? How can he communicate that it’s— it’s what? Not the same?

There’s Allura and Lotor, a mated pair. You’d have to be pretty far from Coalition politics to not know the nature of their bond, and the rampant speculation that an engagement may be coming soon, but Shiro can’t call any of that to mind now. He just sees them, and sees their love.

And then there’s Shiro and Keith. _Not the same, not the same,_ his feelings scream, and yet—

There’s no one more dear to Shiro than Keith. It’s always been that way. How they’re always seeking each other’s company, always something more than friends. He’d have it no other way.

It’s not enough. Keith is frozen, panicked. And Shiro will most likely combust if faced with the real possibility of cuddling up to Keith for the night. It doesn’t matter if Shiro _wants,_ when it’s not welcome— not what Keith wants between them.

Holding the Naraqian’s eyes, Shiro points to Keith and then to the room. He hopes it implies a question. _Him, here?_ She inclines her head in answer. Okay, he feels a glimmer of hope at his minor success. Shiro then points to himself and gestures further down the lane. He hopes this will come through somehow, just a small miracle if it does. _Another for me?_

The Naraqian’s antennae droop pitifully as she looks between the two men. She goes to take a step backward in the direction Shiro indicated, and then hesitates. She points an arm between Shiro and Keith, followed by a questioning sign Shiro’s starting to recognize from the great many times they’ve needed it.

Shiro meets Keith’s eyes, and what he sees punches him in the gut. Keith’s face is drawn and tight, his pupils sharpening, more slitted than before. Everything about his body language screams hurt in that instant before he looks away, his breath hitching as his arms come up to hug himself.

_No,_ Shiro feels. _No, wait._ He steps toward Keith, closer than strictly necessary; it’s less than speaking distance, but they aren’t speaking, are they? The rules are different, suddenly. There’s a greater physicality needed for every communication. It would take nothing for Shiro to reach out and touch him, lifting his chin with gentle fingers, but would that say what he needs to say? _Please, look at me. Tell me._ His fingers twitch and stay by his side.

Keith’s chin lifts of his own accord, meeting Shiro’s eyes in surprise. He sees how Keith’s gaze opens, softens as Shiro stands close. There’s hope in it, whatever the reason. He doesn’t want Shiro to leave his side— and why should he? They can keep each other company. It feels right to keep Keith near, so long as he welcomes it.

Shiro nods at the room, then back at Keith. _You and me?_ He offers his hand between them, palm up in invitation. Keith’s features relax slightly, and it looks like relief. Hesitantly, he takes Shiro’s hand.

It’s good that Shiro doesn’t have to attempt to use his voice next. He’s more than a little breathless just reading the emotion in Keith’s face, reacting to every subtlety.

The escort looks on curiously, no doubt waiting to see if the strange humanoids have any more hang-ups they need to negotiate. Instead, Shiro makes a gesture of thanks and takes a step up the slope to their lodging, pulling Keith after him.

The wide door spirals open like an aperture as they approach. They step over the threshold together.

~ * ~

The one bed is not a surprise. Everything else is.

The room is ample and round, curved like an egg. The ledge where they enter slopes away into an oblong bowl of rock, smoother than the exterior lane but still textured-enough to find a grip underfoot.

The space is lit with the same soft glow of tree roots curving over the ceiling and a few small sconces of warm light.

It’s beautiful. And romantic, dare say. Shiro may have forgotten the word but he feels it just the same.

Shiro’s eyes settle on the bed— if it can be called a bed at all. It’s more of a nest, a plush hollow in the lowest part of the room that’s amply piled with what look to be furs or sheepskins in an unexpected shade of the palest green. It looks pillowy and frankly divine. Shiro wants to touch it.

He takes a cautious step forward, his heavy boots clumsy for navigating the terrain. He makes it partway down the slope before he loses his footing and stumbles the rest of the way into the nest. Keith huffs a laugh as he watches him go tumbling.

When Shiro lands, he finds his pride can’t manage to be hurt when the landing is _so soft._ There’s satisfaction in it, like jumping on a mattress as a child, flopping on his back just to feel how it catches him. He strokes his palm over the various materials and finds himself amazed. It’s nothing like mammal fur, none of it. One is something closer to a silk, milky-smooth and inviting as the material shifts over the layered pillowing beneath. There are other textures, too, like moss and butterfly wing.

When he looks back over his shoulder, Keith is still standing by the door, just watching. Hesitating.

Righting himself, Shiro gestures to the open space beside him, in the nest that’s theirs for the night. _Room for you._

Keith’s expression flickers, uncertain. His eyes dart toward the door, as if remembering. Shiro’s heart tightens. He made Keith doubt whether this was really okay— whether this was what _Shiro_ wanted. Gods, it was all he ever wanted, this and more, forever. Wasn’t that exactly the problem?

Only, it wasn’t a problem. Not right now. Keith’s eyes narrow, scrutinizing Shiro for the first sign of tension, any proof that he’s not welcome here, not really. It feels like Shiro’s turn to show his cards first.

He listens to what his heart tells him to do. Giving Keith what he realizes is a moony little smile, he opens his arms.

_Yes, Keith. You are always wanted._

Keith’s eyes widen, his lips quirking slowly in a watery grin that really shouldn’t be as devastating as it is. Has anyone else ever looked at Shiro like that, like he’s everything? Only Keith.

Keith toes off his boots, confidence returned to him like lightning. He steps down the slope with his feet bare, pads of each foot easily gripping the warm, textured rock. So that’s how it’s done.

Keith grins a little triumphantly as he sits primly beside him, clearly rubbing it in. Shiro laughs and knocks his shoulder with his own.

That’s before Keith strokes his hands over the luxurious bedding and Shiro forgets his own name. It’s not so much the sensual motion as the sound Keith makes, a low whine of pleasure that Shiro is sure he’s never heard but will not soon forget. That moan is going to feature in Shiro’s filthiest fantasies for years to come.

Shiro looks away as innocently as he can manage. Just a man looking around a room. He feels the bedding shift. Peeking back, Keith has plopped down on his back, hair splayed, back arched in uninhibited pleasure.

Keith yawns dramatically and it probably saves Shiro from cardiac arrest. With it, the picture shifts from unattainable fantasy to _just Keith,_ relaxed and safe here with Shiro. That Keith is both is what’s really unfair most of the time.

Keith covers his mouth as he yawns, with a glint of sharp nails that look just a bit more like claws than before. Sharp enough to cut, surely. That is not a mental image Shiro’s hindbrain needs right now, his dick already too invested in all of the sights and sounds and smells of his best friend.

His pants are indeed uncomfortably tight, but he feels pretty safe in the knowledge that’s Keith’s not looking. He has never noticed before, the last hundred times. 

Shiro shifts and tips onto his back as well, until they’re shoulder-to-shoulder with feet pointed in opposite directions.

Keith sighs by his side. Then he reaches for something, which turns out to be the cocoon Shiro fumbled on his way into the nest. It’s torn open and appears to be neither creature nor food, to Shiro’s considerable relief. Keith unwinds a black garment from the bud-like bundle.

Ah, right. They were expecting ceremonial robes. Could it be this?

If so, Shiro sincerely hopes they were handed each other’s size, because if that one is his then it sure isn’t leaving much to the imagination. He’s unsure it would reach his thighs.

Keith starts laughing. He’s loud after so much silence, his face scrunched tight and red as his frame shakes with it. He peeks again and again at Shiro’s mortified expression and the _let’s-just-admit-it’s-lingerie_ in his hands, laughing and laughing like it’s the best comedy anywhere. 

It pulls a helpless laugh out of Shiro, too. It says exactly what he’s feeling.

_Fuck all, what next?_

Keith tosses the ‘robe’ over Shiro’s face, the fabric feather-soft and more than a little transparent against the light. He’s done for. He might as well stay right here. It seems less likely to cause an international incident than going anywhere in _this._

Keith makes a choking sound, but Shiro knows what’s coming. He must be unwrapping his own garment. And Shiro will be staying right here under this robe, thank you very much.

But the silence is unbearable, so he relents. Maybe he gave Keith enough time to recover, because when he pulls the fabric away from his face, Keith doesn’t even look like he’s blushing. He’s staring at the ceiling, absently petting the deep red silk he holds draped over his hand. He doesn’t bother showing Shiro how small it is. He doesn’t need to.

And surprisingly, Shiro manages not to picture Keith draped in an inadequate square of transparent silk. He’s too interested in the thoughtful expression on Keith’s face.

Shiro tips on his side, studying him. Slowly, Keith looks his way, too, turning enough that his scar peeks over his cheekbone. He’s looking right at Shiro and yet he looks miles away.

He wants to ask what he’s thinking. He tries the Naraqian sign for question, hoping that’s enough.

Keith blinks at his hands, lips pursing as it registers what Shiro did. He thinks a moment before he signs back, proving Shiro a fool for trying this tactic: sure, he can ask, but even if Keith can answer, then Shiro would need the vocabulary to follow it. Shiro shakes his head a bit sheepishly, sighing.

Keith huffs a laugh, endeared, and then taps his wrist, brows quirked in question. _Think it’s time?_

Shiro frowns, nodding, and pulls away.

They can’t put it off forever.

~ * ~

When Shiro follows Keith to the door, he wishes it was just a bit cooler out. That would really help to keep down the boner he’s sporting, but no luck there. As the crowd grows in the gardens below, the cavern is getting warmer all the time.

The robe is really more of a vest draped over their shoulders, sleeveless where the sides consist only of loose criss-crossed ties. The design makes sense, considering all the arms the Naraqians have. It is nice that Shiro for once doesn’t need to alter anything to tuck the material around his prosthetic’s grav port.

The ‘robe’ would only be long enough to cover Shiro in front if he were very flaccid and standing very still, neither being the case. Regardless, the damn thing isn’t meant to _close_ at all _._ The black silk hangs fully open from where it drapes over his shoulders to where it brushes the tops of his thighs.

Whatever purpose clothing may hold on Naraq, it apparently isn’t for modesty.

Keith and Shiro both kept their underwear on, hoping to figure out what their hosts really intended with this outfit before embarrassing themselves too egregiously. Keith pokes his head out the door looking toward Allura and Lotor’s room. He appears to regret the choice immediately, jerking back in a flutter of red silk and endless legs.

Shiro spots Allura and Lotor right away. It’d be hard not to. Her robe is a luxurious deep blue, the color vivid beneath her long white hair spilling over her back. Facing away, the blue silk doesn’t quite cover the bottom curve of her ass. Lotor is equally eye-catching in a slate gray, miles of lavender skin and fine muscle. He is also very visibly at half-mast.

So that answers the remaining wardrobe questions.

Keith croaks a little bit, suddenly very interested in the gardens below. It’s easy to see the blush creeping down his shoulder. Allura turns and gives them a wave of greeting, her robe fluttering as she starts in their direction, all her naked curves on full display.

It takes a moment for her to notice the two men’s Earth-style underwear and then she giggles, the sound effervescent in the clammy air.

It couldn’t be clearer if she’d said it with words. Back on the Castle, it had only taken a couple of flustered encounters with a very naked Allura or Coran for _all_ the paladins to get an earful about their rather silly human hang-ups about genitals, and for all the paladins to avoid certain wings of the Castle during morning and evening hours.

Lotor smiles teasingly at them, every bit like a cat who’s caught a mouse.

Allura gestures toward the underwear and makes a very valiant effort to suppress a smile while shaking her head solemnly.

If the universe only knew what the Garrison’s own had agreed to in the name of diplomacy.

Shiro exhales and then drops the boxer-briefs from his hips before he can overthink it, kicking them back through the open door and out of reach. Keith takes a sharp breath beside him, drawing Shiro’s eye. He’s flushed, but it isn’t distress that Shiro sees. Pupils impossibly dark, he eyes the flushed head of Shiro’s half-hard cock.

Shiro feels that look like a caress. He regrets the punched-out sound he makes as soon as he hears it— too raw, too honest— but fuck if he isn’t starting to think Keith likes what he sees.

Keith looks down at himself, obviously tenting his own close-fitting shorts, then up at Shiro’s eyes. His jaw sets as he makes up his mind. Keith keeps his eyes on Shiro as slender thumbs dip under the waistband and slowly tug.

Shiro wants to scream, if only because he needs so badly to know what Keith is _feeling_ as he pointedly holds Shiro’s gaze. Like he’s doing this for him. So Shiro looks.

Keith’s downy trail drops into thick, purple-black curls at the base of a beautiful cock with a sharply tapered head. Keith is fully hard, flushed a purple tint that would look almost painful if it didn’t look Galra instead. Rows of subtle ridges hug the shaft below the head. Shiro wants to feel them all with his tongue.

Lotor clears his throat, and everyone snaps to attention, turning to face him. Even Allura looks flustered, like she was enjoying the show. Without judgement, Lotor gestures to the gardens below. Most of the locals seem to be moving with purpose toward the center, as more and more citizens arrive by the minute. They’d best not keep their hosts waiting.

Allura takes the lead. Barefoot now, Shiro makes it down the slope without incident, entering the gardens upright and with what’s left of his dignity intact. They make their way among crowds of Naraqians, following them along serpentine paths of soft moss and warm, rounded stones.

The people of Naraq certainly don’t seem concerned with the humanoids’ state of undress. They’re all wearing the same silky draping in countless dyed patterns and colors, and suddenly Shiro notices what was hidden before. 

Their marks stand out on exposed skin. Delicate, floral, geometric— all different, all glowing in a soft silvery-green where the designs trail over their chests and arms. And some are unmarked, Naraqians of all sizes and ages.

They come to a standstill with the growing crowd and settle in to wait patiently, but the locals notice them and step aside, gesturing all of the unmarked ahead to the center. That includes their off-world guests.

At the center of the cavern, the largest stalactite of all hangs like a pillar. It’s draped heavily in winding tree roots, and the glow is brighter and brighter as evening sets in. The roots sprout branches that fan wide, suspended over the cavern floor. The effect is that of an inverted tree, forked limbs full of bright leaves and shimmering with silver seed pods.

The hanging stone at its core reaches a point only meters from the ground, but there’s no pillar of rock rising from below to meet it— as though it has been sculpted away through the centuries as the spire overhead grew down and down.

Keith gazes up as they walk under the sweeping branches, his eyes catching a thousand points of silver light and scattering them like stars. He’s breathtaking.

At the center, Allura walks straight toward Protector, making a gesture that feels breezy, soothing. Keith makes the same shape with his hand and curving motion of his arm, so Shiro follows suit. It feels easier than before, somehow. He feels like he knows what these mean, in a wordless sort of way.

Protector steps aside again, and the Shepherd of Naraq takes her place. She indicates that Allura should reach up and pull a silvery seed pod from the branches overhead.

It feels familiar, like the flavor of a dream after waking. The ceremony is beginning.

She looks for a long moment, choosing. Once plucked, the pod opens like a flower in her hand, revealing something like a dart with a vicious barbed point.

Shiro tries to remember what happens next, but the memory belongs to a world of words and plans and meetings, and again it’s like he can’t access it at all. That feels frustrating, because he knows there’s something he’s supposed to do.

Instead, Shiro reaches for the feelings, and all of his other senses. Sights, sounds, smells— the low light of his cabin on Allura’s ship, re-reading the briefing in bed, the clink of a spoon, sipping tea. Not Earth green tea, a luxury he saves for mornings, but a galactic fusion Hunk invented which tastes of ginger and something like clove that isn’t.

The spicy scent reminds him a bit of Keith, though he’s never admitted that even to himself, not until this moment with Keith standing radiant beside him, naked save a swath of red silk, while Shiro tastes the memory of spices on his tongue.

Still, it might be working— the memory is unlocking. As Shiro remembers tastes and smells, there come feelings. A prickle of anxiety, and something else he wouldn’t have words for, anyway. The descriptions of the ritual were florid and vague, but even the outline felt like something molten in his veins.

An exchange. Something painful, for something beautiful.

Standing, holding, giving.

Kneeling, trusting, receiving.

It’s still strange, thinking in all of his other senses, but Shiro feels his heart rate tick up and a blush bloom high on his cheeks.

Allura holds the silver dart high in her outstretched hand.She extends it toward the Shepard, who inclines her head in acknowledgment. Allura bows low, then turns back toward the others.

Toward Lotor.

Lotor who steps forward and kneels at her feet.

Shiro stands very still, transfixed. He hardly breathes.

Allura’s gaze on her mate is heavy and dark. Lotor looks up at her as a supplicant before a goddess, deferential, obedient. It sends sparks up Shiro’s spine. He turns to see Keith before he can stop himself.

Keith’s eyes are black, his breathing quick, his whipcord body taught with arousal. His eyes fly to meet Shiro’s when he moves, unavoidable and electric. Under Keith’s penetrating gaze, Shiro’s heart thrums like a small bird.

Shiro pulls his eyes away only because he must. He can’t miss anything if he is to survive the next varga.

Allura’s eyes remain fixed on the man before her, Lotor’s gaze locked on hers in return. A silent exchange passes between them and them alone. She steps closer, and when she caresses his cheek, tipping his chin up, Shiro realizes it isn’t strictly necessary. She touches him because she can, because she wants to.

She closes her fist around the dart, the point exposed. Lotor inhales deeply, slowly. On the exhale, she swings her fist at the join of his shoulder and neck, plunging the point into the muscle there.

Stoic at first, Lotor’s features contort in pain as the chemical hits his bloodstream, but the only sound he makes is drenched in pleasure. It’s gorgeous and obscene. Shiro shudders.

Allura smiles down at him, her expression full of pride and love as she rakes her fingers along his scalp and through his silky hair. Fine, glowing lines start to surface on Lotor’s lavender skin. It’s a kind of scrollwork running down his chest, like an illuminated text. Shiro recognizes the motif somewhat, like a distant memory of ancient Altean and Galran texts in what was once Honerva’s library.

The dart is empty of the silver fluid it contained. After a pause, Allura wrenches it free in her powerful grip. It peels a groan from his lips.

Lotor’s hands find Allura’s calves, catching himself as he sways, unsteady under the onslaught. When he comes back to himself and his eyes have cleared, Allura helps him to his feet, kissing his lips.

Shiro feels Keith’s eyes on him.

It takes a beat longer to recognize it is his turn— no, _their turn._

Shepherd points an arm at Shiro, a second limb indicating the place for him to stand. A third limb gestures to the glittering display of seed pods overhead.

Shiro swallows. It’s probably best he didn’t understand before. Nothing could have prepared him for this moment. Nothing could deter him, now that they’re here.

Shiro steps forward.

There are so many pods, how is he to choose one? This is for Keith, and it’s up to him to make it perfect for him— but as Shiro looks up, he just knows. There is one in particular that is brighter than the rest for a mere moment. He sends his arm to retrieve it.

It doesn’t open in his metal hand, but does immediately as he rests the papery pod in his flesh palm. The revealed dart pulses with light.

Shiro’s sure he can feel Keith’s eyes on his back, two points of liquid heat. He presents the instrument to Shepherd for her approval, then bows very low, steadying himself before he turns.

He knows several things all at once.

Keith stands coiled like a predator, ready to spring. Shiro may hold the dart, but he’s prey under Keith’s gaze. It makes Shiro’s throat too dry. 

Keith is fully hard, strung taught with desire as he comes to his knees. Disheveled hair, open want on this face, he’s the hottest thing Shiro has ever seen.

Keith is still _just Keith—_ real and raw, with mischief sparkling in his eyes as a wry grin tugs at the corner of his mouth.

Keith is steady, certain. This is where he wants to be.

Keith’s the end of the line. Shiro will never love another like this.

He tucks a piece of raven hair behind Keith’s ear and the man turns his face into the touch. Shiro’s heart lurches in his chest, desire clawing at him until he moves automatically. He’ll never be sure what overcame him, only that his pulse riots as he trails the tips of his fingers along Keith’s jaw until he grazes his parted lips.

Keith’s eyes stretch just a bit wider, with a sigh that is almost a panting breath. Slowly, Shiro strokes a fingertip along the pillow of Keith’s lower lip to the far corner of his mouth. Shiro shivers as he does it— at the challenge in Keith’s eyes.

Keith leans, turning, chasing that touch until- until— Oh. The slide of Keith’s tongue fills Shiro’s whole mind. He feels more than hears the low rumble rolling from Keith’s chest, pleased and possessive as he nips at Shiro’s fingertip with gentle, warning teeth. 

Never mind how the motion of Keith’s head bares the long line of his neck, muscles jutting as he holds himself.

Shiro grips the dart and waits, attentive. At the bottom of Keith’s out-breath, he stabs it in.

Keith doesn’t blink, his eyes devouring the sight of Shiro above him. He trembles, bearing the pain until he can’t and all at once Keith moans so beautifully that Shiro feels it throb through him. It’s impossible to ignore how Keith’s mouth falls open just inches from his straining cock, his fingers still grazing the man’s jaw.

Then the brand is lighting Keith’s skin. Bold lines curve up his neck and down his shoulders and arms, suggestive of his mother’s Galra marks. The marks Keith was born without— they’re his now, giving off a soft silver-green light. 

It’s perfect. He’s perfect.

Keith’s eyes hold Shiro’s like a fixed point, though what he’s seeing in his mind’s eye Shiro can’t know. The revelation about his mark is for Keith alone. Shiro smiles down at him, adoring at once the lost kid he remembers and the self-assured man he has become.

Shiro reaches for the dart and rips it free without warning, bringing a bead of blood to the surface of his flushed skin. 

Keith shudders, mouth falling open in a ravished sigh, never looking away.

There’s a pregnant pause as Keith rallies, through which Shiro can only look on dumbly. Keith blinks, coming back to himself. He looks up— stunned. At what? At seeing Shiro like this?

Worry creeps into Shiro’s heart, unwelcome and intrusive. He doesn’t have the words to tear himself down— for taking advantage, maybe. For giving in to his desires, for enjoying it too much. That he doesn’t deserve the _want_ he thought he saw in Keith’s eyes. Those thoughts can surface later to torment him. What he feels is far simpler: shame.

By the time he pulls Keith to his feet, the spell is broken. They separate, stunned and alone.

There’s something brutal about standing silently beside Keith with all that just happened. They watch Lotor and Allura come together again with perfect harmony, while theirs fractures.

It’s the feeling of sliding into a perfect fit for one crystalline moment, only to be jostled apart again. Shiro finds himself hoping the brand will hurt more than this pain.

Allura is one of the strongest people Shiro has ever known. The way she softens at Lotor’s feet is a revelation, a side of her Shiro has never seen. The strength remains, powerful in her surrender; she takes the mark with hardly a hum in response to the pain, the light tracing strong lines under the skin of her shoulders and upper arms. The shapes bring to mind Altean armor, every bit the paladin and ruler that her father once was.

She buckles forward, still silent, as Lotor rips the point from her neck. Her face nuzzles in the hollow of Lotor’s naked hip as he strokes her hair, soothing her through it.

Shiro looks at Keith then— he has to. Whatever cracked between them, letting Keith down is a physical pain in his chest. He can’t ignore it, can’t pretend. He can’t do this until he’s sure that Keith will forgive him, let him earn forgiveness. 

Keith is already looking at him, and the throb is immediate. There’s something blatant in his expression that holds Shiro taught and aching in Keith’s sights.

Lotor helps Allura to her feet. They stand aside, but Keith doesn’t step forward. 

Nerves prickle Shiro’s insides. He’s anxious not to offend, yes, but worse— he’s afraid he’ll never mend what was broken. And Keith’s expression brooks no argument, staring him down like the tiger he resembles more than ever, lines aglow on his skin. He doesn’t dare stir or look away.

Keith takes a step, not toward their hosts but in front of Shiro, placing a hand firmly on Shiro’s chest.

The Naraqians on the dais are abuzz with activity, though Shiro doesn’t dare turn his attention on them as he feels the heat of Keith’s eyes on him. Instead, Keith gives them a sign without turning his eyes from Shiro. They fall into stillness. Everyone waits.

Keith arches an eyebrow. That alone punches an unsteady breath from Shiro’s lungs. 

He tries not to move a muscle as Keith studies him, slowly circling, stalking. Shiro has never felt so scrutinized in all his life. His dick stirs helplessly, his pulse racing and skin flushed. Keith trails a hand over his robe and all the muscle beneath as he passes, leaving behind the ache of his touch as it’s gone too soon.

Completing his circle, Keith stops in front of Shiro again, eyes anchoring him as firmly as Keith’s palm over his heart.

Thousands of eyes are trained on them, probably more, but only Keith’s eyes matter. Gorgeous and fierce and gentle. For a moment, the fear is consuming— of being judged and found wanting by the only person who matters at all.

But Shiro won’t shrink from him. He trusts Keith in every way, in ways he doesn’t even understand. Whatever he’s asking— _yes. Yes._

Shiro exhales, finding peace in leaving his fate in Keith’s hands, knowing nothing will be the same after this.

Keith pulls him down into a hard kiss.

The frame tilts, gravity shifts. Everything changes.

Keith’s breath is hot on his mouth, his tongue searing as it slides along his lip. Shiro gasps, unsteady as he tips forward, falling into the kiss. _Please, please._

It’s over just as suddenly as it started.

Keith gives him one more consuming look before turning to Shepherd and stepping forward. Shiro is dizzy as Keith selects one of the bright jewels from overhead, seeing the hint of Keith’s mark trailing down his spine, glowing through the thin red silk. Keith rounds on him again, armed with the Illumination _._

Shiro moves as in a dream, drawn forward to him— a beacon in the dark, his North Star. He kneels and sees the thousand points of light above them, like late nights dreaming of adventures on the Garrison roof.

It is, but it isn’t, because Keith used to look to him for guidance. Now it’s Keith who guides his heart. Shiro may doubt himself, but Keith doesn’t; he knows Shiro at his worst and his best, embracing all of him.  Being in Keith’s power is heady and healing.

Shiro moans low in his throat just looking up at Keith in all his beauty, draped in red, holding the dart in one almost-clawed hand. His pupils have slipped into slits, heightened and predatory.

He reaches, threading his fingers into Shiro’s hair. The switch is like lightening, from a soothing rake of nails to a sharp tug as his grip tightens suddenly in his forelock. Shiro feels his spine bow, his heart stuttering.

Instinct possesses him as Keith tilts his head sharply and bares his neck; Shiro softens into it, rolls his left shoulder back so the robe slides down, baring a long line of his skin in wanton invitation.

Lines of pleasure tug at the corners of Keith's eyes. He rumbles a throaty sound, prompting Shiro to release a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

The dart sinks deep into his shoulder, but it’s the burning that follows that flays him open like a fish on a knife.

Pain becomes a window into truths he’s always known. He sees it all in Keith’s eyes as he’s burning.

Dreaming of stars, fighting to reach them, pushing himself harder and farther than anyone ever believed he could. Reaching the heavens, and hurting so much and so often that he’s lost his way. Falling back to Earth, like it’s inevitable. 

But it isn’t. He belongs to constellations far, far from home. He belongs to stars he’s never even seen.

He belongs out there, for himself. The rest will come.

Shiro’s eyes refocus on Keith and his heated, cat-like smile. No longer gripping his hair, Keith cups his cheek in one hand as he grips the dart in the other.

If Shiro could come untouched, this might be how: on his knees before Keith, in his power. _Wanting_ and feeling wanted in return.

Tearing the point from his muscle is _good,_ so unexpectedly good he’s taken by surprise. He keens, gripping Keith’s naked thighs to hold himself.

And Keith smiles, soft and pure and just for Shiro. Protective, devoted. He trails his nails over Shiro’s neck until he’s satisfied that Shiro feels safe and steady. Then he bends low to meet him in another kiss, this one dirtier than before.

Shiro is hot under the collar when he’s pulled to his feet.

Shepherd signs to them, and it seems only Allura catches its meaning. As other initiants approach the dais, she ushers their group to the side. Without fanfare, they melt into the crowd.

Shiro stumbles once or twice. He’s not watching where he’s going— he’s looking at Keith. Keith with his arm around Shiro’s back, kneading his hip with sharp nails.

Keith with his dark, hungry eyes.

Keith with tiger stripes of light on his skin.

Shiro has to kiss him again. It can’t wait. Practically falling into the kiss, it’s Keith who catches him. That, too, feels just right.

There’s a huff of laughter against Shiro’s lips, gratified and fond. They bump against a hedge somewhere in the crowd, hopelessly off the path. When Keith takes control of the kiss, Shiro feels it like a thunderclap. Keith’s tongue is hot in his mouth, his lips demanding, his hands overpowering.

It ends too soon— vargas too soon, if he’s honest. Shiro does understand that they are here as diplomats, not wanting to draw too many eyes. They’ve lost Allura and Lotor, but the way back is clear. They need to make it to their room before Shiro can focus on Keith, on whatever this is, and however far Keith will allow this to go.

He’ll give Keith anything. Everything, if he wants it.

Meanwhile, Keith is trailing his nails over Shiro’s skin, little staccato touches dusting down his chest, tingling his every nerve. Keith’s eyes are locked on his skin, studying it, memorizing it.

Shiro peers down.

_Stars._ Trailing over his breastbone, fanning out across his pecs, dusting faintly over his abs. Everywhere his eyes land there are stars, glowing points of light trailing down his shoulder, wrapping his upper arm, dancing with his scars. 

Shiro can’t remember when he last looked at himself, at his skin, and saw something beautiful. But it is— he is. He can’t even question it.

Some of these stars he knows by the constellations he can still trace in his sleep. On his bicep, he spots a cluster of Cetus, Pisces, and Cassiopeia. No words, no names, just shapes, stories, dreams.

Most of these he doesn’t know. The Earth constellations give way to mysteries, to stars he’s never seen. Or he may have, from some vantage, but he doesn’t yet know them by heart.

But he will. The mark is a promise, and a dare. _Come find me._

Shiro meets Keith’s eyes, and sees the light tremble where his eyes are glassy with feeling. Keith is looking back with awe. It hits him then that Keith has looked at him like this before. Not just now, not just here. He’s looking at Shiro like he hung the stars himself and it’s deeply, achingly familiar.

And he feels the expression on his own face, full to the brim. It carves its way into Shiro’s heart: the certainty, the safety of holding nothing back.

Keith moves slowly, meeting his lips more softly than before. One kiss, two, three. It’s grounding, helping Shiro find his breath, his center.

There’s a glint of mischief in Keith’s eyes when they meet again, just as Shiro feels the drag of Keith’s cock against his hip. It’s all he can do to bite back the moan that crawls up his throat at that first, electrifying touch.

Keith takes Shiro by the wrist and pulls him the rest of the way.

~ * ~

He only lets go when the door slides closed behind them.

Shiro wonders what happens now. It feels colossal, what happened, what they shared. _Right_ and _good_ and _enormous_ , like it will crush him if he can’t hold it all.

Keith doesn’t wait; he steps lightly down toward their nest in a flutter of blood red silk that is already sliding from his shoulders, catching Shiro’s breath as it falls away. Keith’s tiger-stripe marks glow softly down the sides of his neck, spanning his shoulders, dipping down his spine. It comes to a point at the small of his back, and Shiro swallows hard as his eyes follow the perfect curves of his ass in the intimate light.

Keith skirts the edge of the silver-green softness, circling until he’s reached the far side. He turns his eyes up to Shiro, expression watchful as he crouches and crawls into the nest.

One moment it’s a hollow space, and the next it’s full and sacred because Keith is there at its heart. He moves on all fours with catlike pleasure, brushing palms and knees and toes over liquid softness where it cradles his weight. His eyes stay on Shiro, gleaming and dark, stalking. Shiro feels rooted to the spot, watching and feeling watched. Just looking has Shiro exposed like a raw nerve.

Keith extends a leg to the side and shifts his weight, stretching into all the muscles of his legs. He’s testing the spring of the pillowy surface, and it turns playful, coiled and ready to pounce.

The feeling coils below Shiro’s navel, too, the pressure building. He wants to go to him. He wants permission.

Then Keith growls.

His voice is like a rope knotted deep in Shiro’s fantasies, dragging them to light. Shiro feels the response in his chest before thinking it, a low rumble of challenge tumbling out of him. He’s on hands and knees in the nest in a blink.

Keith grins dangerously, lighting him on fire. He shakes his tousled hair like an inky mane, lithe shoulders lined with light, and growls again— louder, stoking that flame. Shiro stalks closer. So close, he could touch—

But Keith evades easily, like liquid silver before he lunges at Shiro, just grazing over the silk at his shoulders with sharp nails that Shiro knows in his heart are claws. Then Keith waits for him to parlay again.

It’s not a chase, but a challenge. A contest, which Keith intends to win. Shiro doesn’t know precisely what it means if he does, but he’s all in. There’s nothing he wouldn’t give.

They circle, stalking on knees or crouched very low. Instincts take over. He’s sparred with Keith for years— and this is that, but turned on its head and stripped bare with heated intent.

It’s play. It’s exhilarating. Shiro’s heart races as he looks for openings to pounce on Keith, savoring the way Keith’s fine muscle ripple as he coils and springs.

The silk beneath them is some kind of indestructible stuff. It just doesn’t tear, even under this punishment.It just gets kicked aside as they tussle over cushions that feel like moss and down under their hands and knees.

Keith’s attacks take on a new edge the first time Shiro gets him on his back. He has him for only a second before their clamoring turns sharp with a furious snapping of teeth. Keith catches him at the neck with a clawed strike and Shiro sucks a sharp breath as the rake burns, the sensation humming through his nerves. It’s not unwelcome— far from it. Shiro likes how it hurts.

Keith throws his weight the next moment, toppling him and evading the hold Shiro intended, flitting away with glowing eyes. He bites back the disappointment at not managing to hold Keith down and lick into his mouth.

Instead, Shiro falls still, reading Keith’s face. He has to know— has he pushed too hard? He has to know it straight from Keith.

Keith slows his movement, too, catching on quickly to Shiro’s concern. The moment suspends as Keith blinks at him slowly, calmly, and just seeing it slows Shiro’s racing heart. _It’s okay. I’m okay._

As Shiro relaxes, Keith smiles a little devilishly.

Then he launches himself at Shiro with a snarl. It’s beyond wild, the kind of explosive power he wields in the direst combat. Pain blooms over Shiro’s body where Keith lands bruising strikes and raking cuts. He’s all wind and chaos, something Shiro’s only seen when the danger is mortal.

This isn’t life or death, but life and life— fighting _for_ Shiro with everything he has.

He’s relentless, and it’s brilliant and terrifying. Shiro feels Keith taking control of the contest, and his body keens with desire. Shiro’s not giving an inch, but he’s _losing_ inch after inch as Keith cuts the angle, circling, closing in, deflecting counterattacks in a torrent of pure devastation.

Shiro sweeps his knees, taking him down, but he tumbles like liquid, formlessly alive, springing up even faster than he went down.

Keith leaps onto his back. _Foolish,_ Shiro feels, moving as water to throw him off. But something catches, wrenches him over— the black silk still hanging from his shoulders, twisted mercilessly in Keith’s grip and refusing to tear. Shiro tangles in it and falls _hard_.

Keith wrenches his flesh arm back into a submit position, twisted in the silk, even as his Altean arm floats up and sinks deep into Keith’s hair for a handhold. But Keith has the advantage now, brutal and breathtaking. Tugging Keith’s hair only spurs him on hotter, heavier. He’s a solid line of sweat-damp heat where he’s slung over Shiro’s back, growling long and low in his ear.

Keith nips sharply at the shell of his ear, sending a shudder through Shiro as his spine goes molten in the hold, reveling in the sweetness of being in Keith’s hands. The fight goes out of him all at once, loosening his grip in Keith’s hair until the Altean hand falls away. Keith keeps him in a vice grip and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

He’s already panting, heart racing, before Keith shifts and he feels the man’s cock press hard and _leaking_ against the back of his thigh. A whimper falls from Shiro’s lips, so soft a breeze would waft it away unheard, but Keith must hear as nails bite sharply across his chest and into his twisted arm.

Keith rocks his hips again, nudging along his thigh with more intent than before. So hot and so _wet,_ more than seems possible. Shiro swoons, and doesn’t notice how his knees edge apart, lining his hips up with Keith. He wants to be split open on that cock. When Keith thrusts forward again, his cock slides between Shiro’s legs until it nudges into his balls. Shiro chokes on a moan.

He tries to grind back against his cock, but Keith holds him firm with a low growl of warning at his ear. The sound is throaty with that just-right rasp of Keith’s voice, a sound that all at once Shiro realizes he misses almost desperately. What might Keith say to him now, like this?

When Shiro goes still in his hold, Keith’s chest rumbles approvingly, impossibly like a purr. He noses along his neck, giving Shiro soft little licks that feel like praise. It makes Shiro shudder.

He wants to grind back, just as desperate as before, but the need to be good for Keith wins out. He stays put, feeling Keith coat him in a mess of slick as he slowly ruts between his thighs.

Knees spread, Shiro arches his ass up as far as he can. He knows Keith sees the sharp bend of his spine, feels the angle of it against his abdomen. His tongue slides along his neck again and Keith breathes deep there. _Oh._

Shiro bares his neck.

He doesn’t know why he does it. It feels like instinct. Not his own, but Keith’s— and that’s all the reason Shiro needs. It feels right, feels good, the way Keith’s pulse jumps and his hips jerk forward to meet him more roughly. It’s maddening, the way Keith pants at his throat.

More so when he slides his teeth along the column of Shiro’s neck, shocked by his own sudden need as his heart hammers behind his ribs. 

_Bite. Bite._ Shiro needs him to bite. It’s so clearly what Keith wants, teeth lingering over his throat with undisguised longing. Shiro wants him to take it.

But he won’t— Keith holds back. Shiro whines but it’s no use.

Keith frees his arm, strips the black silk from his shoulders. Nails trailing over Shiro’s skin tease terribly as he looks back at Keith over his shoulder. Dim, warm light caresses the planes of Keith’s face light candlelight, while his dark hair picks up the violet-tinted glow from overhead. Keith’s pupils fan wide as he gazes back at Shiro, leaving him naked in the most intimate way.

A wry grin plays at Keith’s lips as he crawls closer to his side. The yearning is physical, painful, exquisite.

The kiss consumes him, heavy with hot breath and the slide of tongue. Keith rolls him down into the downy softness on his back, splays his legs open. His grip is sharp at once in his hair and on his inner thigh, and Shiro keens loudly into the man’s mouth.

He could kiss Keith forever, lie beneath him and _be kissed_ within an inch of his life. He also needs Keith’s cock, needs it so urgently he wants to beg. Keith is leaking heavily at the dip of his hipbone, sliding gently against Shiro’s skin in a pool of his own slick. There’s a delicious bit of friction against his own painful hardness, but it’s not enough. Keith’s cock should be inside him, his mouth, his hole.

Torn between desires, Shiro shudders, open and waiting. He’s Keith’s, just as much as he’s always been, and more than ever. Keith will take care of him.

Keith’s eyes fly open, locking Shiro in a stare. He felt the tremor roll through Shiro’s body, needing to know what it means.

Shiro whimpers. It’s a pitiful sound, plaintive.

Keith’s weight stays on one elbow, fingers of that hand scraping along Shiro’s scalp, while his free hand glides up Shiro’s ribs with worshipful focus. Keith watches how brushing Shiro’s nipple makes his eyes flutter, but hell, he’s _in hell_ wanting more than that light touch. He wants Keith’s nails to bite, his grip to pinch.

But when Keith’s fingers find his lips, he forgets all that. Shiro’s lips part immediately, inviting him in. Two fingers slide over the flat of his tongue.

Shiro moans as Keith holds his mouth open with a sensual slide of fingers, salivating as his digits dip in and out. He swallows hard, more than once, overwhelmed with the press of those fingers and the teasing weight of Keith’s cock still seeking friction at Shiro’s hip. He’s on fire.

Keith moves quickly, climbing up Shiro’s body until his drenched cock nudges at Shiro’s jaw. His mouth is open and straining, seeking Keith without any thought, just hunger. Keith rumbles that low, unconscious growl, gazing down at Shiro’s gaping mouth as he tries and fails to capture Keith’s cock.

With a firm grip on his hair, Keith drags his cock along Shiro’s plump lip where he strains to get a lick. He mewls at the taste, eyes rolling back from the force of his thirst. 

As Keith finally slides past his lips, Shiro can’t restrain a groan at his taste, his scent, the weight of him in his mouth. Pronounced ridges feel stiff against his tongue, surrounding the crown and curving around the top of his shaft. Shiro gives those spots special attention, sliding his tongue between them, loving the way Keith’s throat rumbles in response. He loves the way the sharply-tapered head nudges the back of his throat.

Keith pulls away far too soon.

Shiro forgets his pout when Keith holds him down by the shoulders, turning and pinning his face between pale knees, and oh— oh fuck.

There’s a weightless moment where Shiro waits for what he knows is coming. Keith licks a long, wet stripe down his shaft precisely as he slides into Shiro’s mouth.

No, into his throat.

It’s not rough, but _deep,_ so fucking deep. It’s overwhelming immediately, the angle and the sharp tip nudging right where Shiro needs him to be. Keith strokes slowly in and out while he suckles the sensitive head of Shiro’s dick, teasing, playing. It’s maddening and perfect, being toyed with. Tears in his eyes, Shiro surrenders to the feeling.

The more he relaxes, the deeper Keith seems to take his throat. He gets in a breath here and there, lapping up Keith’s pleasure, sweet and wet. Keith swallows him in earnest and it’s too much all at once— he spins apart.

Keith moans as he gets a mouthful, drinking deep, hips jolting more roughly in his throat as Shiro spends himself. But Keith pulls out. It leaves Shiro amazed at Keith’s self-control. Disappointed, not to feel and taste Keith spend in his mouth.  And dizzy, desperately dizzy for air. Shiro takes it in gulps.

Keith’s eyes gleam tauntingly. His hair sticks to the sweat on his face, looking wild and devastating.

Keith lifts him— yes, _lifts_ him, like it’s nothing— and sets him, still panting, on his knees again. Shiro’s never been manhandled by a lover before, and _god_ it’s what he _needs_ as Keith’s grip settles hard on his hips. One hand slides firmly up Shiro’s spine, tipping his shoulders down into the nest with all that delirious strength. 

Keith growls as his nails drag sharply down Shiro’s back. The moan those claws rip from him is filthy. Shiro buries his face in the downy nest, eyes clenched tight. He wants to feel that again and again.

Keith does not disappoint, gripping into the muscles at his hips with sharp stabs of pain, carving his nails up his thighs. But it fades to the background as Keith spreads his ass and licks over his hole.

Shiro is aware that he’s a moaning mess. He can’t begin to hold it back, not now with Keith wrecking him body and soul with his tongue. Slowly, his cock is trying to respond again to Keith’s incessant urging.

He needs more— more. The need is staggering. Keith must feel it too, as he kneels and slicks Shiro’s entrance with his own pre. Keith’s cock is soaking as he slips past Shiro’s hole, just nudging his rim as he ruts between his ass cheeks.

The need, the need.

Shiro whimpers.

Keith growls very low, rutting, toying. _Need._ Moaning louder, begging with his voice, with his entire quivering body. Keith lines himself up, humming to himself. _Need need need,_ Shiro whines beyond thought.

It’s euphoric when Keith pierces him, one long slick slide into Shiro’s tight heat. So tight, burning, full. 

Shiro doesn’t dare move, though he craves it— wants to fuck back hard and fast, loving the way it burns. But he senses how Keith needs steadying; Shiro feels it in how Keith shivers bottoming out. Confident and fierce and _overwhelmed_ by filling Shiro. It squeezes Shiro’s heart.

So he holds steady for Keith, holds him inside, holds him up as he bends over his back. Shiro gives a soothing hum, a gentle note of encouragement. He focuses on that even as Keith’s sharp grip needles him.

Keith pants near the top of his spine, claws clenching and unclenching. He kisses Shiro’s back, immediately reminding Shiro how much he wants Keith’s teeth. He’s waiting for Shiro to hum again, approving before Keith moves.

When he moves, he takes control.

Shiro’s spine bows, arching into each shattering thrust. It’s hard and heavy, stroke after stroke ripping through him, massaging deep. In the absence of words, Keith’s cock fills all the spaces he has left, punching out delirious cries.

Keith moans low, a restrained sound. It’s not enough; Shiro wants it _all,_ everything he’s holding back. He whines.

Claws rip down his back, raising welts and tripping over scars in their path. _Yes, yes, yes!_ Shiro keens, arching his back sharply, and— that spot, Keith is hammering that spot—

It’s perfect. It’s not enough. His face buried in silk, Shiro sinks his teeth into his own arm, whimpers against his flesh. He needs it. He needs Keith’s teeth.

Keith stills when Shiro’s delirious cries don’t time with his cutting nails or his thrusts. He lets Shiro go, pulling out, releasing him. Looking back, Keith’s eyes fall into slits with an uncertain little frown.

_No._ Shiro rolls into the sheets, laying himself out beneath Keith, the picture of submission. Pleading with his eyes, he spreads his thighs.

Keith follows, drawn back in. He holds the back of Shiro’s thighs as he slides in again, fingers lacing with Shiro’s own grip on his legs.

Keith moans fucking into him again, and then _squeaks_ in a startled way that grips Shiro's attention. He’s looking down— not at Shiro’s throbbing cock or his stretched hole, but at the vicious bite Shiro left on his own arm, clear enough to make out each of his teeth.

Keith blinks at the bite mark, then back at Shiro’s flushed face as he pumps inside.

Shiro pants, baring his neck again, tempting him down. The invitation is unmistakable this time. Keith’s cat eyes are heightened with excitement as licks his lips. He stretches himself out over Shiro, eyeing his throat.

Keith’s skin is so hot. That alone would drive a moan from Shiro’s lips, but it’s everything at once. His rocking thrusts are slow, measured, deep. Shiro’s dick is pinned between their bodies with delicious friction as Keith takes a first bite at Shiro’s neck. It’s quick, experimental, but solid.

Shiro’s broken moan fills the room.

Keith bites harder, galvanized. He’s moaning around a mouthful, lapping over the stinging marks he leaves with an eager tongue. His thrusts hit home with every stroke, grinding him off. But it’s the red-hot pain that sends him soaring.

Shiro paints their bellies while Keith bites again over the tenderest spot, the abused muscle at the join of his shoulder. He’ll feel that for a movement at least, the lingering evidence of their coupling on his skin. Shiro groans heavily as his orgasm tips into oversensitivity.

Keith’s not far behind, his face tells on him— but he pulls out without warning.

Shiro tries with his ankles to drag him back where he wants him, buried deep inside, but the aftermath of pleasure laid waste to Shiro’s usual strength. Keith strokes himself once, twice, and groans, spilling ropes of come over Shiro’s chest.

Shiro’s eyes lock on his dick, transfixed. Vicious barbs stand stiffly from the ridges along his cock, white like teeth. They must emerge when Keith comes, hidden before. Shiro reaches to touch before he can think better of it.

Flexible, but firm and _sharp._

Keith trembles as Shiro plucks his fingertips along the exposed spines, which are very slowly retreating back into his flesh as Keith pants above him. And hell, if it’s _badwrong_ to think it, Shiro can’t help himself— he wants this. He wants Keith to fill him up and lock inside him, own him while Keith’s release leaks from his hole. Shiro shivers with desire.

Keith studies Shiro’s face, watchful, until his lips snag into a hesitant smile. Shiro isn’t disgusted, isn’t fearful; Keith might’ve been afraid to hope before this moment, but now he knows.

Shiro will take all of him.

_Yours._ It’s not a word, but an emotion, filling Shiro up.

As if sharing the thought, Keith drags two fingers through the mess of their spend on Shiro’s belly, scooping some onto his fingers. He presses those fingers into Shiro’s hole. 

Shiro’s breath snags in his throat. Keith is shameless now, and it’s a wondrous thing. Filthy and soothing, sliding milky fingers inside him once, twice, a third time. He’s almost too sensitive for this, but Keith is gentle, exploring, marking Shiro’s insides.

_Mine._

He does it again and again, and it really is soothing. Shiro’s eyes droop closed, sated and utterly spent. His limbs are heavy in the nest when he feels the brush of heavy cloth cleaning him, the soft nest enfolding him, Keith’s contented sigh as he settles his cheek against Shiro’s chest right over his heart.

~ * ~

Shiro stirs in the early morning, lingering sleep muddling his senses. He feels rooted to the spot, his body wrecked and sore. It aches so good, the sleep so thick he’s dizzy with it. It’s such a rare feeling, a good night’s sleep.

Faintly, something tickles his nose. He leans into it rubbing his face in the softness.

That something shifts, and Shiro’s thoughts slowly form around the weight and warmth of a body pressed close, draped over his chest, tucked up along his left hip. The heat of skin on skin, tangled in each other. The nose buried softly at the join of his shoulder and neck where the muscle aches like a wicked bruise.

Before opening his eyes, he knows. He remembers.

_K—_

His breath shudders a gasp. He’s in the arms of the man he’s loved forever, more than he ever thought possible.

_Kei—_

Safe, surrounded. Here, together.

_Keith._

Prying his eyes open, Shiro takes in the sight of a bare shoulder peeking out of the plushest bedding there ever was. It catches Shiro’s breath— the rawness, the simplicity of seeing him here like this.

He hears the name in his mind again, circling it like a fixed point.

_Keith._

The bio-glow above them is gone. Golden light fills the room instead, getting brighter by the moment like dawn breaking— or more like day mode on a ship, being this far underground.

The light caresses Keith softly, his neck and pale shoulder framed in silky fabrics in the palest green. And— oh, Shiro’s heart thunders at the barely-there glow on Keith’s skin, faded in daylight but still reminiscent of Galra stripes.

Shiro thinks of seeing him move the night before, luminous and lithe.

_Keith._

There’s a glorious bruise at the crook of Keith’s neck where Shiro sunk the dart into his flesh. Shiro’s sore shoulder must be its match. He wants to kiss the spot.

In sleep, Keith nuzzles closer, nosing against Shiro’s neck and breathing deep, squeezing his heart. He cradles the man closer, holding tight.

Shiro lays very still as moments tick by in sublime silence. He doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want the moment to pass before he’s memorized it.

_Keith—_

But Keith’s breathing changes. He is waking slowly, like Shiro had, hazily making sense of the halo of comfort surrounding him.

Keith’s breathing hitches, falling silent, and he goes a bit rigid in Shiro’s hold. Suddenly it’s more than Shiro can bare— he has to touch, has to hang onto this. 

_Keith. Please._

He pets his hand down Keith’s bare spine, settling heavily over his lower back. An airy whine floats out of him at the touch, like a balm soothing Shiro’s deepest fears.

_Yours, Keith. Yours._

Shiro does it again and again, demanding, soothing. He’ll leave nothing to chance. This thumb traces lines in his flesh where he remembers his stripes falling, the flat of his palm caressing his skin, until the tension relaxes out of Keith again.

_Safe, Keith. Stay._

Keith tilts his head back, braving a peek at Shiro’s face. He’ll never know what he sees exactly, only hoping it’s all the things Shiro feels. His awe. His devotion, his love. He only knows how the fear in Keith’s eyes softens into something steady and certain.

Keith moves, reaching to cup Shiro’s cheek. His eyes flick to Shiro’s mouth and back up as Keith licks his own bottom lip.

_Want. He wants._

Shiro goes, pulled in by Keith’s gravity. They kiss, tongues tangling with contented sighs. It’s the best kiss yet, the one that survives until morning.

Rolling, Shiro pins Keith beneath him, kissing deeper. Keith moans, hips jolting up to meet him.

_Keith—_

Shiro’s hands are everywhere. He’s not thinking, he’s just moving, feeling. Keith’s skin is slick with the first sheen of sweat, his skin heavy with salt from the long night before. Shiro licks down his chest, happy to taste him and remember.

_Worshipped._

Keith arches into his touch, hardening fast, breathing quick as Shiro goes down. Shiro nuzzles the dip of his hip with his cheek, skirting around his hardness. Instead he presses Keith’s knees to his chest, spreading him open and licking over his hole.

Keith gasps, blinking at Shiro with hooded eyes. Lips parted, he nods for Shiro to go on.

_Trusted._

The sounds spilling from Keith’s lips are music as Shiro teases and sucks at his rim, spearing him open on his thick tongue. Keith is so tight, muscles tightly-wound as Shiro works him slowly, slowly into softening under his mouth and fingers. He takes Keith in hand, soaking his fist in ample pre as he strokes.

_Keith, Keith._

Keith pants hard, pulling at Shiro’s shoulders, at his bangs. Shiro understands that whine. _In me,_ his eyes plead.

_Need. He needs._

On his knees, Shiro coats his own cock in Keith’s wet before lining up. He gazes fondly as he nudges inside, loving how Keith’s mouth falls open and eyes roll back as Shiro fills him to the hilt.

He loves how Keith comes apart at the seams. His moans, his squeezing thighs, his grip going slack as Shiro pumps into him over and over.

Keith’s eyes flutter and catch the light, wet. He’s an exposed nerve, open, vulnerable. He’s the most stunning sight of Shiro’s life.

_Keith_ , he thinks. _Keith, Keith, Keith._ His name fills Shiro’s thoughts. It catches in his throat, then—

“Kei—,” he shudders. “Keith!”

A sharp breath. Shiro watches as a tear falls from Keith’s eye while his kiss-plumped lips form a word. Some word.

He doesn’t know what it means, just that it means everything to Keith. He wants to lick that word out of his mouth and taste it.

Shiro groans, his voice shaking. “Keith,” he gasps as he punches his hips forward in a steady rhythm.

“—iro,” Keith chokes, keening as each thrust he takes hits harder than the last. He sounds beautiful and broken.

“Ahh-hah, Sh-iro,” Keith pants.

A name. It’s his own name, isn’t it?

Keith gasps his name aloud again. The feeling surrounds him, until it’s all Shiro can feel, all he can hear and taste and see.

_Loved._

Shiro’s skirting that edge of bliss, ready to tip over any moment. He sinks down, kissing along Keith’s jaw, taking an elbow so he can press close and take Keith’s cock in his metal palm. Fuck, he’s so hot to the touch, flesh ridges catching in his fist as he strokes firmly.

“Keith,” his name falls from his lips, a plea and a warning. He’s gone.

“Shiro!”

Keith moans so loudly, and then he’s spilling over Shiro’s fingers while Shiro’s hips stutter in ecstasy, filling Keith up. His body shakes with his release.

_Keith, Keith, Keith._

Keith whimpers, a throaty sound as he grips Shiro’s shoulders, holding him in place.

“Shiro, I—” he cuts off.

Shiro’s mind is clearing by the tick. “I’m here, Keith,” he breathes. “Here.”

“You, I…” Keith shakes his head, his cheeks heating with frustration. He opens his mouth and closes it, wincing.

Shiro waits breathless, desperate. He’s suddenly nervous for what Keith’s trying so hard to say.

“I… Stay. Dream.” He pulls Shiro close, clings to him. “We.”

It doesn’t make sense, not yet— at least, not his words. But the press of his lips on Shiro’s, his frantic grip, his wet eyes, all of that comes through loud and clear.

“Shiro—”

Shiro swallows. “I love you, Keith.”

Keith’s eyes widen and he breathes out slowly. Another breath, steadier than before.

“Love,” Keith says softly. Then he smiles. “I… love you, too.”

_~ * ~_

**Author's Note:**

> Sheith friends, find me on [**twitter**](https://twitter.com/bioplast_hero)! ♥️ [Other sheith by this author](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Brelationship_ids%5D%5B%5D=10209319&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&exclude_work_search%5Brelationship_ids%5D%5B%5D=17504241&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=halloween+party&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=T&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&commit=Sort+and+Filter&user_id=bioplast_hero)
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> I love comments of any kind, including emoji dances and keysmashes— all welcome. Thank you for reading!


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